


Nothing Like You

by nachonaco



Category: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, F/F, Goggles - Freeform, Hevelyn - Freeform, Hypnotism, I'm just really gay for Hevelyn, Songfic, first Incredibles fic, unrequited Hevelyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachonaco/pseuds/nachonaco
Summary: Evelyn Deavor prides herself on her ability to keep her composure.  One woman - and a series of nights - can change that.





	Nothing Like You

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I wanna thank everyone in the Hevelyn fandom (and in the Hevelyn Heaven and Hevelyn Hell Discord servers) for their unwavering support in this fic of mine. As always, I don't own anything! Not the characters, not the world, not the song(s) used! But regardless, enjoy.

“But what if-“

            Evelyn Deavor turns her head as she watches Elastigirl rummage through the Screenslaver’s mask. A lump forms in her throat, her eyes widen. _Please, God,_ she begs to someone she hasn’t spoken to in years. _Don’t let her figure it out_.

            “-the screen doesn’t _look_ like a screen? What if the pizza guy is _really_ a pizza guy, but he was controlled by the screens built into his gla-“ Evelyn’s heart races in tempo with Elastigirl’s quickening, urgent revelation, and the liquor in her stomach churns and mixes with the anxiety that is rapidly taking hold. With her heart as a lump in her throat and her stomach twisting, Evelyn quickly slams the hypnotic goggles onto her associate before she can talk herself out of it. Before she can hear her father’s voice in her head again, before she shuts down.   Her pulse thuds in her ears as Elastigirl’s face contorts into a surprised grimace and then to a state of placid obedience.

Evelyn drowns out the thoughts urging her to stop what she’s doing, to undo what she’s done. She keeps her composure in the dark room, the only light coming from the screens behind them and the goggles obscuring Elastigirl’s eyes. The hero doesn’t struggle, doesn’t fight – she’s entirely compliant. As uneasy as that makes Evelyn, she must remain aloof. “You are good,” she compliments the unaware super.

            They will remain in the room for a few moments, Evelyn decides, to give herself time to decompress. She will need to think of a way to get Elastigirl out of the control room without drawing Winston’s attention. The past few weeks have been too good to her, too lucky – the luckiest break she’s had in years. The control room is completely silent, the result of clever architecture to block off noise from the open area just a few feet away. Evelyn begins to pick at one of her fingernails, the only sound in the room apart from Elastigirl’s frankly robotic breathing.

            _I did it_. _I got her_.

            She brushes the back of her hand against Elastigirl’s cheek, somewhat disappointed that she can’t react under her own agency. Part of Evelyn wants Elastigirl to be repulsed, part of her wants her to be reciprocal. A moment of panic had cost her everything she wanted, everything she convinced herself she deserved. But what other option was there? Elastigirl was crafty, devilishly so. The file she had obtained from the NSA said as much, and she can see it plain as day.

            Her heart rate slows, but her conscience comes back with a vengeance and claws desperately at her resolve. Evelyn traces Elastigirl’s cheekbone with the thumb of her right hand, their foreheads press together, and her left hand begins to gently squeeze the other woman’s right shoulder. Evelyn swallows the lump in her throat once more, though she knows it will be back any moment now. She is proven right as she inhales the scent of alcohol from Elastigirl – moscato, if she isn’t mistaken, mixed with flowery perfume that Evelyn cannot be bothered to identify. A half-choked sob wracks her body as her shoulders shake, while Elastigirl remains paralyzed.

            Time is running short. The night has droned on, she knows, and it’s likely the party guests have gone – the old man was asleep hours ago, and the younger heroes were likely ready to retire by now if they hadn’t already. Winston is likely to have retreated to his office, leaving the path to Evelyn’s underground lab crystal clear. She tightens her grip on the hero and kneels down in front of her before she buries her head in the super’s shoulder. She shudders and thumbs Elastigirl’s collarbone through the Galbaki suit, and she expects to hear the sharp inhale of registered pain as her finger traces the healing wound left by her pawn’s cattle prod.

            _I did this_.

            Tears well in Evelyn’s eyes as she mentally replays the footage from Elastigirl’s suitcam. Evelyn recalls every second of her fight for survival on private display. The woman was damn near animalistic in her convictions.

            _I made her a monster_ , _even without hypnotizing her_.

            “Elastigirl, I-“ she chokes out the words, stumbling over them like she stumbles down the hall after too much time spent appealing to her basest desires. “Helen,” she says with a whisper, the hero’s true name leaves her lips and is replaced by a feeling of calmness, a welcome benediction. “Helen, I’m so, so, so sorry.”

            Words aren’t enough, she knows.

            She squeezes Elastigirl’s – Helen’s – shoulder again, ruing the fact that she had only scratched the surface of her hypnotic effects. Her heart breaks in two as she realizes there is no true way to test it without risking it all – if she orders Helen to behave as she normally would, Helen would be obeying a hypnotic command. Evelyn Deavor allows a moment to pass before she closes the distance between them once more, her lips just centimeters away from Helen’s. Her chest shudders and her heart flutters with anticipation, so very near the moment she’s dreamed of since Elastigirl first hit the streets during Evelyn’s sophomore year of high school.

            “You could have saved my parents,” she whispers. “You could have saved me.” Regret wells up in her like a lock during a spring storm, and for a moment she isn’t sure what will cure it. She closes her eyes again after a moment, and just entertains herself by listening to Helen’s mechanical, methodic breathing. “You don’t know…what it was like. You left on your own. You wanted to…to make your own way, didn’t you, Helen? You made that choice. A robber made my choice for me.”

            It’s like talking to a doll. Helen/Elastigirl does not move, does not breathe, does not speak. There are no words of comfort to be spoken to her, no torch against the night and its whispers of her high school nicknames.

            Deavor the Dyke.

            Deavor the Degenerate.

            And the worst…

            Deavor the Desperate.

            Twin trails of tears fall down her cheeks, and she shuts her eyes to keep from staring into the dead-eyed gaze of the woman she’d captured. “Forgive me.” It comes out as a squeak. Evelyn stands up and dusts herself off before she wipes her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “It’s time. We have to go.”

            Her heart jumps into her throat again and she can feel her mouth water with the promise of vomit as Helen/Elastigirl clumsily stands up. The first few moments of total hypnosis are horrifying to watch, Evelyn opines, whether it's the white rats downstairs working themselves into a frenzy on their exercise wheel or the woman in the grey suit inching toward her, head bowed and lolling up and down until she gets used to the hypnotic effect. It’s almost like Helen is fighting, or like Elastigirl is fighting. Evelyn isn’t sure which. Is it the hero come to stay out of retirement, or the protective mother, eager to return to a state where she is fully capable of watching over her family?

            “No, let me-“ Evelyn’s face turns red as she pauses. “-carry you.”

            Helen/Elastigirl stands there. A sour, metallic taste builds in Evelyn’s mouth as she positions herself in front of the hypnotized hero. She swallows, her throat suddenly seemingly incurably dry. “Hel- Elastigirl,” she commands. “Place your hands on my shoulders.” Her heart warms and sinks at the same time as the other woman gently takes her by the shoulders. She hooks her hands around Helen’s fingers, something hard and sharp under her gloves digging into Evelyn’s soft hands. “You keep your ring on?” she asks softly.

            Helen’s head lazily lolls forward in response, and the frame of her goggles digs into Evelyn’s shoulder blades. Evelyn swallows the bitter taste in her mouth, kneels down, and slides her hands up Helen’s thighs. It’s almost frightening how light she is, but Evelyn is used to heavy lifting of both the physical and emotional variety. “Helen,” she orders calmly. “Hook your arms around my neck.” She closes her eyes, half-expecting something to go horribly wrong, but instead Helen simply clasps one gloved hand around the opposite wrist.

            “Th-thank you,” Evelyn stammers. She isn’t sure if it’s the right thing to say, but a sort of relief falls on her like gentle morning dew. Slowly, she begins the trek to the elevator. The only sounds Evelyn can hear are the cleaning crews vacuuming and the beat of her own heart in her ears. She tiptoes quietly along the soft carpet to the warmly lit, open elevator. What luck. Evelyn enters and gingerly sets her charge down. She tries not to think about how Elastigirl doesn’t support her head.

            “Elastigirl,” she commands, and wonders if the duality of the super’s names is confusing to her ravaged mind. “Support your head.” It sounds strange, but it is better than picturing her lifeless. Elastigirl’s neck stiffens, the cyan glow of her goggles bores into Evelyn’s heart, mind, and soul. Evelyn slowly backs away to the other end of the spacious lift. Her hands shake as she grips the silver railing; her palms are slick with sweat. She sinks down and picks at a loose thread on her sleeve.

            The elevator ride is slow, even based off of the fact that they’re heading from the penthouse to the basement. Evelyn continues to pick at the loose thread in her white-and-black dress, while Helen-Elastigirl continues to stare myopically at the closed elevator door. With a few floors left to go, Evelyn swallows the ever-present lump in her throat and ambles toward the hero to rest her head against Helen’s chest. Her heart rate is pleasantly slow, in contrast to Evelyn’s. Evelyn sighs and sobs before she brings her fist to her mouth to stifle the noise.

            The elevator reaches the basement. Evelyn quickly collects herself with the most slight of choked gasps before she stands up. She hoists Helen in a fireman’s carry so she can hear her steady heartbeat. Each step she takes that brings her closer to the lab also brings her closer to the realization that she is going to house someone in a condition that very well may kill her. The DevTech cryogenic chamber is really more suited toward computers, but Evelyn is prepared. As she closes in, Helen’s lithe body grows heavier on Evelyn’s shoulders and conscience.

            She tries not to think of Helen shivering to death, alone and afraid.

            Alone and afraid.

            “Don’t worry,” she says, an eerie sense of undeserved calm creeping in. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” She reassures herself just as she reaches the chamber. Still gingerly carrying her charge, she sets Helen down in the chair she has appropriated from the medical research lab. With a heavy heart, Evelyn Deavor sits Helen Parr in the cold metal chair, and she knows it will and can get so much colder. “I can’t tell,” Evelyn whispers. “If it’s…just that I’m expecting it to be cold in here or not, but I haven’t turned on the freezer yet and I’m still freezing. But I won’t turn it on. I won’t…not for a while anyway, because…I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to take you away from…from Violet or Dash.”

            She kneels down just as the robotic chair registers Helen’s unwilling and unaware presence, and the dull whirr of the restraint mechanism locks the elastic super into place with no fanfare or protestations. She balls up her fists and rests them on Helen’s knees, her shins on the cold metal floor. She chances a look at Helen, but the super is staring straight up into the sky.

            “I don’t want to take you away from Bob.”

            She contemplates for a moment what life could have been for them, or tries to. In her grief, nothing immediately comes to mind. “I have to go,” she says softly. She stands up and runs her fingers along Helen’s russet-colored hair. Evelyn tucks a loose lock behind Helen’s ear. “I’ll be back in the morning. I love you.”

            After the admission, Evelyn quickly makes her way out of the lab. As she nears the elevator door, she spins on her heel, her mouth agape. Her heart pounds in her chest with an ache so intense she feels it’s near to bursting. The trek back is significantly worse, and Evelyn’s eyes glisten with tears as she nears her victim, the only woman she ever loved and the only woman she could never have.

            “Now or never, Deavor,” she recites the admonition that saw her through her childhood quietly. The words tumble unceremoniously from her mouth to no one in particular beyond herself. Her stomach twists again, her head pounds with the threat of an oncoming migraine brought on by her own hand.

            Elastigirl – Helen – whoever she is, super or human, is like a damn drug. Enough will never be enough, Evelyn knows. For the second time this evening, Evelyn Deavor loses control of her perfectly restrained inhibitions. She enters the cryogenic chamber once more, but this time she finds it warm. Her lips crash into Elastigirl’s for only a moment before she can take back the reins. Horrified, Evelyn pulls away and cups her hands to her mouth before she lets out an embarrassed shriek. Her chest heaves and Evelyn runs out of the laboratory, her eyes wide and fearful and self-loathing.

            She takes the steps at DevTech’s front atrium two at a time before she pushes open the glass doors. A rush of night air is salve on her festering skin, the fragrance of a brief rainfall cloaks and cleanses her aching mind. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Evelyn lets loose a stream of curses and condemnations in varying volumes and digs her nails into her shorn-short hair. “ _God damn you, Evelyn_!” She howls out her own name like a wounded animal, arctic eyes wide with terror and disgust. “God damn you to _Hell_ and _back_!”

            The world before her gets spotty and black, streetlights blur pleasantly against the nearby brick walls. Evelyn slowly, shakily, agonizingly makes her way to a nearby bench. She covers half of her face with one hand and fiddles with her car keys in the other. Her tears flow freely now. “God…damn…you…” Everything today has made her so weak. She needs to go home.

            “Are…you all right?”

            Evelyn nearly jumps out of her damn skin. She shakes her head to clear it before she turns around. Voyd stands there, gloved hands protectively wrap around what appears to be a sketchpad.

            “Voyd?”

            “I, well, I heard you having a panic attack, I think, it sounds like when I have them, and I thought-“

            “What are you still doing here? Go back to your hotel,” Evelyn says bitterly.

            “I missed the bus,” Voyd answers sheepishly. “I’d like to go, but I wasn’t really paying attention to what the front of the hotel looked like. I can’t make a portal if I don’t know exactly where I’m…portaling…to.”

            Evelyn rolls her bloodshot eyes. “C’mon, kid.” She jerks her head towards her not-quite-old but not-quite-new personal car, a black Volkswagen-Porsche 914. “Get in.”

            There is some hesitation on Voyd’s part, and Evelyn doesn’t blame her in the slightest. “We don’t have all night,” she says in what she hopes is a motherly tone. Voyd gets the message and climbs in the passenger seat, while Evelyn slinks into the driver’s seat. The roar of the engine sends Evelyn’s head into a tailspin. “Ugh.”

            “Too much to drink?” Voyd asks, her tone sympathetic.

            “You could say that.”

            _Drunk on love_ , she adds mentally.

            “Just…turn the dial to whatever music you want,” Evelyn offers as she gestures to the radio. “Quietly.”

            Voyd does not play music. “Miss Deavor?”

            “Yeah?”

            “I just wanted to say that…I think it’s really cool that…you have this, you know? You’re helping supers.”

            _And helping myself to them_.

            “Yeah?” she repeats, her tone somewhat disinterested as she focuses on the road ahead in the haze of her embarrassment, drunkenness, and insomnia. She hunches forward, her hands gripping the steering wheel even tighter than she gripped Elastigirl’s shoulders.

            “Yeah. When I was growing up in..in Indiana, you know, we never really had a lot of a chance to be different. You have to fit this mold, and I can’t, you know? So I moved out here - well, upstate – so I could go to art school, and I’ve been doing a lot better with-“

            “Listen, kid, if you’re looking to dish out life advice, you’re better off doing it to someone who isn’t facing the hangover from Hell tomorrow morning.”

            “Sorry.”

            Evelyn nearly feels a pang of regret as Voyd shrinks into the black leather seat.

            “You mind crashing on my couch for the night? It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it should do for the evening.”

            “I don’t mind!” Voyd cheerily chirps, and Evelyn winces. How on earth can someone be so chipper at this time of night? “You live far from here?”

            “Eh, sort of. I actually have a suite on the DevTech campus that I can live in, I’m just more of a person who values their privacy.” They stop at a stoplight, and Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ugh. Gonna have to take an aspirin when I get home.” She closes her eyes and all she can see is Elastigirl’s sitting-duck position, as vulnerable as they get. Still pinching the bridge of her nose, Evelyn’s eyes shoot open. Did she turn off the automatic timer for the freezer?

            “Um, Ev- Miss Deavor?”

            “Mm?”

            “It’s…the light’s green.”

            Right.

            Evelyn continues driving; no further words are spoken between the two until she parks the car. “I, uh, I’ve got a lot of stuff to drink, if you’re thirsty,” she says awkwardly. “And some food, too. I don’t know if you’re much of a drinker.” Lord knows she is, Evelyn thinks. But Voyd has her whole life ahead of her, even if Evelyn is about to crush any chance at the life she might want now.

            Evelyn grips the steering wheel as they park in her designated spot. When Voyd exits the car with her, Evelyn clumsily tosses her the keys. “I’m the one on the left,” she drawls out while her headache worsens. “Go ahead and open it, I need some fresh air.”

            Voyd nods and Evelyn closes her eyes in an effort to clear her mind. She sits on the sidewalk, her head rests against the stucco siding of her neighbor’s apartment. Evelyn sighs deeply and wishes her emergency pack of cigarettes were closer than her bedside table. “ _God_ ,” she chokes out. A brief series of sobs comes forth again before she can stop it, and after a moment Evelyn is alerted to the clicking of an opening door. Her neighbor pokes his head out. “Ev?” He asks quietly. “What’s wrong?”

            “I’m fine,” she answers.

            “Dad! Is Evelyn okay?”

            Evelyn’s heart stops and is torn in two when she sees the t-shirt her neighbor’s daughter is wearing. Elastigirl’s logo - her original Mode logo – is in proud view, just barely visible over the head of a large Great Pyrenees that stands between father and child. The child looks at Evelyn, brown eyes wide with concern as Evelyn grimaces.

            “Yeah.” Evelyn stands up. “I gotta go.”

            She begins the short trek to her apartment by slowly ambling up the slatted stairs. Evelyn fumbles for a moment to search for her keys in her haze of anxiety and alcohol. “Deavor, you idiot,” she whispers as she opens the door and the cold metal ebbs into her hand.

            “You okay?”

            Evelyn is sick of people asking that question.

            “Yeah.”

            Voyd sits on her black leather couch, the sketchpad from before lays on her lap. Evelyn creeps closer. “Hey,” Voyd says. “Whatcha think?” The aquamarine-haired teenager smiles at her and tilts the sketch towards Evelyn, and Evelyn Deavor feels sicker than before.

            It’s Elastigirl, arms folded across her chest as she leans against the original Elasticycle, a knowing but playful smirk on her sketched face.

            “I-I love it,” Evelyn answers, surprised to hear her own response. Her face flushes red. “Hey, I’m gonna take a shower. There’s a spare blanket in the linen closet if you want it.”

            “’Kay.”

            Evelyn notices Voyd hasn’t taken anything to eat or drink.

            “None of it’s poisoned, you know,” she jokes. “You can have something to eat.”

            “Oh, gosh, no, it’s not th-“ Voyd stammers. “I just…I have a problem eating stuff I didn’t prepare.”

            “I get it,” Evelyn concedes. “Anyway, I’m getting in the shower.”

            She enters the spacious bathroom and shuts the door behind her, shedding her dress that smells too much like tonight and too much like _her_. She kicks the Galbaki garment to the corner of the room before she first looks toward the shower.

            A shower doesn’t feel quite right.

            Evelyn kicks off her shoes and nudges them toward her discarded dress before she reaches to undo her bra. The garment falls to the floor, and her panties follow shortly after. Evelyn puts the stopper in the tub drain before she turns on the faucet and lets the water flow like her emotions cannot. Steam rises from the elevating surface, and when it reaches a satisfactory level, Evelyn reaches for the blue box of Calgon bubble bath and unceremoniously dumps more of the box than she reasonably should, but desperate times (and desperate people) call for desperate measures. She deeply inhales, the scent of fresh, calming lavender working to relax her. Evelyn clicks on the radio on the top shelf before she climbs into the scalding-hot tub. The static of the radio gives way to the announcer’s voice. “Good evening, Metroville! Some exciting news from New Urbem tonight, as the Midwestern town was paid a visit by the one-and-only Elastigirl. It looks like supers are back on the streets, so baddies, watch your backs! Haha. Elastigirl, if you’re listening, thanks for everything. One of my college buddies is from New Urbem and was on that train. This one goes out to you.”

            Evelyn presses a hand to her mouth as the jazzy intro to Elastigirl’s theme song plays. “ _Here comes Elastigirl, stretching her arms_! _Elastigirl_! _No one’s beyond her reeeeeeach_! _Ahhh, Elastigirl_!” She cringes and sinks into the mountainous piles of bubbles and squeezes her eyes tightly shut with a groan. Through the sounds of rushing water in her ears, Evelyn can still hear the muffled refrain of Elastigirl’s too-long ( _and yet_ , Evelyn thinks, _too short for someone as wonderful as she is_ ) theme song.

            Evelyn resurfaces.

            “And once again, that was ‘Here Comes Elastigirl’, performed by Metroville’s own Hunter Sisters, in association with composer Mike Giacchino. Folks, I gotta tell ya: having supers back in action is really just tops. And now, here’s ‘Love Like You’, by Rebecca Sugar!”

            “Mother _fucker_ ,” Evelyn growls over the twinkling, fanciful piano intro. She reaches behind her for a towel to dry her hands on, and once they are dry to her satisfaction, she reaches for the pack of emergency cigarettes she keeps on the sink, only inches away from the bathtub. She roughly shakes a cigarette from the pack and places it between her trembling lips when the sultry vocals flood her bathroom. “ _If I could…begin to be_ …” The song slowly, but not steadily, raises Evelyn’s anxious heartbeat. She closes her eyes as she takes a drag and lets the smoke fill and swirl in her mouth. “… _half of what you think of me_ …”

            The singer continues to croon her flagship song, and Evelyn expels the smoke from her mouth. Guilt consumes her, fear, anger, everything she should have felt fifteen years ago.

            “ _I could do about anything_ …”

            “But you can’t, can you, Ev?” she asks the empty room and grunts in disgust. “Absolutely helpless. Except when you didn’t want to be.” She swallows the lump in her throat that reappears after both it and she have had time to relax. She leans into the curve of the back of the tub and her shoulders shake. “God…” She closes her eyes and rests the heel of her hand into her forehead. “Helen…”

            “ _I could even learn how to love_ …”

            “Wh-when I see, the way you act, wondering when I’m coming back…” Evelyn joins along, her singing voice wobbly and warbled from years of disuse. She wavers between speaking the lyrics and singing them, but keeps her volume low for fear of being overheard by Voyd. She swallows before she begins the next line. “I c-could do about anything…I could even learn how to love….like…you…”

            She sniffles, discards her cigarette, and sinks below the bubbles again. Evelyn shuts her eyes against the soapy, rushing water around her and folds her arms across her chest. Her hands grip her shoulders tightly and she grits her teeth. She draws her knees closer to herself in the cooling tub and steels herself from the barrage of self-inflicted intrusive thoughts that storm into her mindscape like a battalion from Hell.

            “ _God_ ,” she chokes out for what feels like the millionth time that night.

            The song ends, and Evelyn exits the bath. She drains it just as her emotions are drained, and it takes her a moment to realize just how _quiet_ her small apartment is when she turns the radio off. It’s unlike Voyd to be so silent, Evelyn knows, despite the fact that she has only been acquainted with the young woman for a matter of days. Evelyn enters her bedroom through the second bathroom door that joins the two rooms and dresses for bed: a black camisole and white sweatpants with the Devtech logo in blue patterned throughout. She shuffles quietly into the kitchen, and her heart nearly stops mid-beat when she sees a pair of blue orbs on the sliding glass door.

            _Helen_.

            The image clears when she shakes her head. It is not Helen, who she knows is securely underground. Instead, Evelyn Deavor stares into the unknowing reflection of Voyd, who sits on the couch and waits for an order Evelyn does not want to give. With a hand on her heart and her eyes wide, Evelyn comes closer to the young super. She sits on the couch, as if waiting for Voyd to come out of her stupor.

            But Voyd never does.

            And Voyd will not, because Evelyn cannot bring herself to remove the goggles.

            “You know,” Evelyn begins. “It’s…kind of funny. When I was your age, maybe a bit younger – you’re what, nineteen? – I idolized Elastigirl too. I had the t-shirts, action figures…everything. Even this cheap knockoff of her mask that fell apart after two days and got glitter everywhere. I was _absolutely convinced_ she was the best superhero. Sometimes I think…I think I still am.”

            She pauses and traces a nonsensical design with her finger on the glass coffee table.

            “But supers are the reason my parents are gone.”

            Voyd does not respond, just like Helen.

            “I think it destroyed Winston most of all. The only thing that kept him going, he said, was that he knew I was safe. We had this…this safe room. Mom wanted to go inside. Dad wouldn’t let her. He said we were safe.”

            She paused and coughed out a sob.

            “Mom made sure I went in.”

            Evelyn’s shoulders bob up and down as she holds back.

            “I was alone for, I think maybe four hours? I don’t remember. I was sixteen, Win was nineteen and was at Illinois University New Urbem, so he wasn’t there. He doesn’t know what it was like – and that’s why when Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl and Frozone came in, we argued. He _thinks_ he knows everything.”

            She pauses.

            “It’s one of the very few things we have in common,” she admitted. “Voyd, I don’t know what people want. I don’t know if I’m making the right choice here. Upsetting the status quo will just make things more difficult. It doesn’t matter if people are like you or if they’re like me. You aren’t old enough to know a time when supers were legal and people got hurt.”

            Evelyn stands up and walks to the fridge and takes out a six-pack before she returns to the coffee table. “Well, maybe you are.” She reaches for the bottle opener that remains magnetically tethered to the coffee table and opens her beer. She takes a swig and swallows. “Anyway…there was this girl.”

            She pauses again.

            “Stratogale.”

            It’s a name she hasn’t spoken in years.

            “She didn’t have any parents that we knew of. She just…showed up on the doorstep one day, like one of those cliché orphans. And once my father saw what she was and what she could do, well, he took her in. Gave her the best of the best, just like if she’d been one of us from the start.”

            Evelyn pauses again.

            “She was five. My father was on his way to work and almost tripped over her, she was sitting on our porch singing to the birds – and my God, Voyd, they were singing back. I’m not kidding. This kid was gifted. I saw her do so much crazy shit that she almost had me loving supers as much as my father.”

            Evelyn pauses again and shuts her eyes, tears begin to prick at the corners.

            “So anyway…Strato- Gail decides she’s going to go out and do hero work even though it’s been banned by now, right? So she goes. And she tries to save this…this jetliner that’s in this steep dive and-“

            _God_.

            “She didn’t- couldn’t,” Evelyn finished. “Win and I tried to stop her, we tried to tell her it wasn’t worth the risk. She didn’t listen.” A wistful smile plays on Evelyn’s face as she drunkenly chuckles. “And she paid the price.”

            Evelyn opens her eyes. The bare living room is a welcome change of pace from the images of her adopted sister’s demise replaying in her mind’s theater.

            “They never recovered any of her, you know. Not anything meaningful enough to bury.”

            She licks her lips.

            “Win went right into the NSA after that,” she continues. “There’s actually a statue in the park dedicated to her – dedicated to how it should have gone. She’s holding up the plane, you know? She saved it.”

            Evelyn swallows another sip of beer chased by a sob.

            “I designed that statue. And after that, I swore off hero worship. And art, too.”

            She shudders. “I call it science now. It sounds less…personal, you know?”

            Evelyn Deavor isn’t sure why she is bearing her soul to someone who can’t respond.

            “I’m going to bed.”

            She does not intend to go to bed, and the thoughts that race in her mind have no intention of allowing her to. Evelyn makes it as far as her bed before she collapses under the twin weights of grief and guilt and her lanky body clumsily falls into the waterbed mattress. She draws an overstuffed down pillow close to her body and curls up so the feather-filled object is completely engulfed by her slender form. Her chin rests on the top of the pillow and she stares at the clock on her bedside table, guarded by an army of sleep aids. She takes two of the Valium, and before Evelyn Deavor knows it, she drifts off.

            When she wakes up, there is something soft and warm in her bed that was not there before. Evelyn swallows and raises a hand to trail through the heart-shaped hair of her lover curled up next to her. The other woman stirs.

            “Morning, baby,” Helen whispers as she turns her head. “How’d you sleep?”

            Evelyn chuckles. “Just fine,” she answers. She lifts and tilts her head a bit and rests her head closer to Helen’s and reaches out for the other woman’s arm. She traces the super’s bare left hand, no glove to divide her rough hands from Helen’s supple ones.   Evelyn traces her thumb in circles along the back of Helen’s hand, working her way up and down each individual finger.

            Evelyn gasps.

            The ring she knew is gone.

            In its place, if Evelyn’s guess based solely on touch is correct, is a ring cut out in the shape of the DevTech logo.

            “Helen?” Evelyn asks before she gets up and stares at the ring. “Are we-“

            “Baby, are you feeling all right? We’ve been married for almost sixteen years.”

            “We-“

            “You mean you don’t remember? Well, I can help with that,” Helen purred softly, and Evelyn is suddenly playfully pinned to the wavy surface of the mattress. Only the briefest of moments passes before Helen is on top of her, her thighs on either side of Evelyn’s waist.

            Evelyn forgets how to breathe when Helen starts to plant kisses down her jawline, and can only whimper when the elastic woman playfully nibbles her earlobe before she speaks again. “You were in Georgia on a work assignment. Car broke down in front of my farm…I fixed it…and the rest is history and future.”

            Evelyn’s elevated heartbeat is not the result of anxiety this time, but elation, doubling in pace with each second that Helen draws nearer to her lithe body, with each machination of Helen’s hands to undress her, the inventor’s eyes close as she lets her wife roam.

            “But…” the super trails off.

            Evelyn’s heart thuds.

            “If you loved me so much...”

            Something is _wrong_.

            Evelyn opens her eyes.

            Helen draws back her playful hands and stares at Evelyn and the goggles on her face snap Evelyn out of it.

            “Why?”

            Evelyn launches out of bed and into reality.

            The promised hangover arrives, and Evelyn slowly blinks as she looks at the clock.

            “Ten hours,” she murmurs. “Evelyn Michelle Deavor, you are nothing short of an absolute mess.” Evelyn cannot remember a time when she got more than two hours of sleep at a time.

            She sheds all propriety and sneaks past the hypnotized girl in her living room, still wearing her pajamas. Her car stands out inky-black in the parking lot, and Evelyn climbs inside. She fumbles in her glove compartment for a moment and fishes out her DevTech badge. The guards will not arrive for another two hours, which gives her plenty of time to say her piece.

            When she arrives at the building that houses her underground lab, Evelyn’s heart rate triples. It quadruples when she reaches the glass wall dividing her from the forbidden and the unknown, the half-conscious woman strapped to a chair.

            Evelyn’s hand deftly strokes a few keys, and she begins to speak. “DevTech development log entry number eight-dash-two-dash-nine-dash-eight-nine, Evelyn Deavor speaking on a time capsule line to be deleted seventy-two hours from time of origin.” She clears her throat. “Devon,” she addresses the AI in her lab. “Begin visual recording.”

            “Visual recording commenced, Miss Deavor.”

            Evelyn twirls a pen in her fingers as she addresses the camera that slowly unsheathes from a hole in her desk. “Get me a reading on the subject.”

            “Accessing DevTech Medical Evaluation program. Subject is a thirty-nine year-old super in prime physical condition, notable exception being a slight case of dehydration and of hypoglycemia. Objective recommendation is to provide the patient with-“

            “Thank you, Devon, that won’t be necessary.”

            She sits at her desk and swivels her chair around to face Elastigirl.

            “Give me a reading on the patient’s sleep schedule.”

            “Records indicate that the patient has experienced a total and satisfactory sleeping pattern over the past twenty-four hours.”

            “So there are some things I don’t have control over,” Evelyn muses aloud, the cap of her pen wedged between her lips.

            “What do you have control over, Evelyn?”

            It’s Elastigirl’s voice that Evelyn hears, and the pen cap falls from her mouth as she opens it in shock.

            But Elastigirl’s mouth does not move.

            “What do you have control over?” Elastigirl’s husky, accusing voice repeats.

            “Wha-“

            “Yourself?”

            Evelyn swallows.

            “Me?”

            Evelyn slowly ambles from her desk back toward the glass. She knows in her heart Elastigirl is unconscious, but still-

            “What are you even doing, Evelyn? Do you know?”

            Evelyn bangs her fist on the glass so hard she thinks it might crack.

            She sinks down.

            Her head pounds.

            Evelyn Deavor rests her forehead on the cool glass and swallows, her throat once again dry.

            “Evelyn, you have to let me go.”

            She knows it isn’t real. Elastigirl would never beg.

            It’s her.

            “It’s all in your head, Ev,” she whispered.

            She is going insane and she knows it. Her doctor had warned her against drinking while taking Valium, and now…

            “Now I only have you,” she whispers to the empty lab. Helen-Elastigirl no longer speaks, a welcome boon to Evelyn’s ravaged mind.

            “Devon, erase recording.”

            “Recording erased.”

            Evelyn does not want anyone to know she is down here.

            She slowly stands up. Her hands are shaking.

            “Devon, lights off.”

            The lights in the room, except for those luminating Helen Parr, dim to nothing.

            “Worse,” Evelyn whispers, but she cannot bring herself to light the rest of the room.

            She knows the lab better than she knows her own mind – especially at this moment. Hyper-focusing has long been a specialty of hers, and now she decides to put it to decent use. She does not want to see what she is about to do to herself. She pulls out a pair of goggles, the first pair she ever made, on her face. “Now or never, Deavor,” she whispers as she puts the goggles on. She shakily fumbles for the button on the side of the lens, and does not fight the onslaught of checkered patterns that swirls before her. With her arms folded tightly across her chest, Evelyn gives in. Her viselike grip on her upper arms loosens as she feels the sickly-sweet embrace take over.

            Evelyn does not know when she wakes up by the time the batteries in the prototype she is wearing die.

            When she glances at the clock, she realizes she has lost an entire day.

            More importantly, Voyd is standing right behind her, the young super’s breathing just as measured and robotic as Helen’s. Evelyn, shocked, removes the glasses. “I don’t know you, Ev,” she whispers to herself.

            “Voyd?”

            The mesmerized super turns her head.

            “When did you-“

            “You paged for me,” she answered in monotone.

            Evelyn swallows to quench her dry throat.

            “Good, good,” she says softly. “Er- go…” she rummages in her desk drawer for more of the goggles. “One, two, three, four, fi- Go get the others,” she finishes, handing each pair into Voyd’s waiting grasp. “I don’t care how you do it. Just do it, and leave me.”

            Evelyn is once again alone with Elastigirl. With Helen.

            She finds the strength to stand up, her legs shaky as she realizes what else has transpired during her personal hypnosis session.

            Frosty air swirls in the bottom of the chamber.

            “Devon,” she addresses the artificial intellignce once more. “How long has the cooler been active?”

            “Five hours and seventeen minutes, Miss Deavor.”

            “Shit,” Evelyn whispers. “Thank you, Devon.”

            She deactivates Elastigirl’s goggles, and is not surprised in the least when the hero immediately begins trying to free herself and remove the dormant eyewear. Evelyn regains her composure in record time, sped up by the sound of Elastigirl’s struggles.

            “I would resist the temptation to stretch,” Evelyn warns, equally fearful behind her cool and measured tone, for Elastigirl’s health and her own safety, armed with the knowledge that a free Elastigirl means an incarcerated (or, going by the fight against her pawn, dead) Evelyn. “The temperature around is _well_ below freezing. Try to stretch and – _you’ll break_.”

            “So _you’re_ the Screenslaver.” Evelyn isn’t talking to Elastigirl the hero at the moment – judging by her tone, this is purely wife-and-mother Helen Parr, tone floating between accusatory and understanding.

            “Yes – and no,” Evelyn answers, a catlike grin on her face. “Let’s say I created the character and prerecorded the messages.” She circles Helen’s prison like a vulture, but Evelyn is more reminded of guest lectures she’s done at universities. All in all, she reminds herself, this is just another demonstration of her true abilities.

            “Does Winston know?”

            “That I’m the Screenslaver? Of course not! Can you imagine what Mr. ‘Free Enterprise’ would do with my hypnosis technology?”

            “Worse than what _you’re_ doing?”

            “Hey, I’m using the technology to destroy people’s trust in it. Like I’m using superheroes.” _Like I’m using you, Helen_.

            “ _Who_ did I put in jail?”

            “Pizza delivery guy. Seemed the right height, build, gave you a pretty good fight. I should say _I_ gave you a pretty good fight _through_ him.”

            “But it doesn’t bother you that an innocent man is in jail?”

            “Eh, he was surly. And the pizza was cold.”

            “I counted on you.”

            “ _That’s_ why you failed.”

            “What?”

            “Why would you count on me? Because I built you a bike? Because my brother knows the words to your theme song? We don’t know each other!”

            “But you can count on me anyway.”

            “I’m supposed to, aren’t I? Because you have some strange abilities and a shiny costume, the rest of us are supposed to put our lives into your gloved hands. That’s what my father believed. When our home was broken into, my mother wanted to hide. Begged my father to use the safe room. But Father insisted they call his superhero friends. He died – pointlessly, stupidly – waiting for heroes to save the day.”

            “But why would- Your brother-“

            “Is a child! He remembers the time when we had parents _and_ superheroes! So, like a child, Winston conflates the two. Mommy and Daddy went away _because_ supers went away. Our sweet parents were _fools_ to put their lives in anybody else’s hands! Superheroes keep us _weak_!” She slams her palm forcefully to the glass, and a smile creeps on her face when she watches Elastigirl visibly flinch and recoil. _Looks like you’re not so brave after all, Helen Parr_.

            “Are you gonna kill me?”

            “Nah,” Evelyn says after a moment’s pause, as if she were considering it before she sinks down to the floor and cocks her head. _Honey, I wouldn’t kill you if I could_. “Using you is better. You’re gonna help _me_ make supers illegal _forever_.” She coolly presses the button on her remote that reactivates the goggles, and a perverse sense of satisfaction that is no longer unwanted or unwelcome bubbles to her surface. She watches Elastigirl struggle, the elastic woman all too aware now of what the goggles do to her.

            Nobody, except Evelyn Deavor, wants his or her mind made blank.

            She reaches for her desk phone and dials the number that corresponds to the private line for Mr. Incredible. He answers after only two rings.

            “Hello?”

            “Elastigirl’s in trouble.”

            “What? What happened to her?”

            “Sorry to tell you on the phone. Meet me on our ship at DevTech.”

            “The ship at DevTech. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

            Their conversation is brief, but Evelyn knows her time with Elastigirl is about to be cut extremely short. Mr. Incredible is no Rhodes scholar, but he is no idiot either.

            And unless Evelyn can think of an alternative, he could rip her apart like a piece of paper.

            Evelyn enters the chilly chamber once more, tbankful she has had the foresight to put on her coat. She wonders when her hypnotized mind thought to don it.

            “C’mon, Helen,” she says as she frees the super. “I’m not carrying you this time, so you’re gonna have to walk. You’ve gotten used to the hypnosis by now.”

            Elastigirl stands up and follows her, her motions far less jarring this time, to the ship at DevTech. Boarding the hydrofoil while avoiding attention is difficult, but not impossible for the greatest superhero and the technological genius behind DevTech’s inventions. She locks Elastigirl in a room so dark it rivals the darkness of her heart and soul. As she ticks off that item on her to do list and stands in the lobby of the hydrofoil, she hears the footfalls of Mr. Incredible himself.

            “Fill me in.” His tone is urgent, and hers must match as they race toward the room where Elastigirl is.

            “Good news and bad news: We found her, she seems physically fine, but she’s had an encounter with Screenslaver and she’s acting kind of strange. In here.” She gestures toward the closed door, and Mr. Incredible has no qualms about rushing in to save his wife.

            “Strange how?” He asks curiously, and Elastigirl answers him by throwing a chair at his head.

            “Helen! Helen, what are you-“

            It is an absolutely terrifying spectacle to watch, but Evelyn Deavor keeps her calm and carries on as Elastigirl wraps herself around Mr. Incredible and begins to strangle him. Evelyn’s heart soars as, to her relief, Helen does not kill Bob Parr. She watches, a twinge of pain in her heart as she can hear the desperation in the muscular man’s voice, as he brings his hypnotized wife closer to him in an effort to make her remember.

            “Helen, it’s _me_!”

            Covertly, Evelyn presses a button in her jacket that releases the goggles’ hold on Elastigirl for a fraction of a second. Enough to make her _remember_. The inventor’s heart breaks when she hears the slight gasp of recognition, and when Elastigirl pulls Mr. Incredible into the most heartwrenching kiss Evelyn has ever seen, she reactivates the goggles and reaches for the spare pair meant for the man himself. Elastigirl grabs them, exactly as planned.

            Her work done, Evelyn Deavor folds her arms over her chest and surveys her dirty handiwork.

            One of the cleaning ladies walks by with a portable radio on a cart, and as she walks away, Evelyn Deavor can hear the middle lines of her least favorite song.

            _I always thought I might be bad, now I’m sure that it’s true, ‘cause I think you’re so good, and I’m nothing like you_.

**Author's Note:**

> What a ride, huh folks? Well, enjoy, and please leave kudos!


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